


A Hand to Hold, Within Your Own

by cagethesongbird



Series: A(geplay) Corp [2]
Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Accidents, Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Caregiver Tyrell Wellick, Caretaking, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Little Elliot, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifier usage, Stuffed Toys, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagethesongbird/pseuds/cagethesongbird
Summary: Tyrell wants to show Elliot just how loved he is, to give him the things that will make him feel safe and happy.Ageplay helps with that.
Relationships: Elliot Alderson & Tyrell Wellick, Elliot Alderson/Tyrell Wellick
Series: A(geplay) Corp [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617634
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	A Hand to Hold, Within Your Own

**Author's Note:**

> pretend this is the a corp universe. the a stands for ageplay
> 
> tyrell's lullaby: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WVB6xng85ks

Tyrell’s love language was gifts. It always had been. Some of his earliest memories were of clumsily picking flowers for his mother in the field beside their home in Sweden – and the ensuing heartbreak when his father would ask why there was a vase of weeds taking up space on his counter.

His mother had shushed him, and assured Tyrell that his flowers were beautiful, but the idea that his gifts weren’t good enough had never left him. Then he had met Joanna, and she stopped his heart with her beauty, her intelligence, her dancer-like grace. He would have given her the world, could he have afforded it.

But even a man with as grandiose ideas as Tyrell knew some things were impossible, and he settled for giving her every earthly thing she asked for. He stole cheap zirconia earrings for her, just because she was jealous of the woman who owned them. He positioned himself into the hell of an entry-level corporate tech, just to rise through the ranks for her. She was his sun, and he revolved around her every whim.

And then Elliot entered the picture.

Elliot, who was not so easily bought and sold. Sure, Tyrell had tried. There had been fancy dinners, expensive watches, and tailored silk shirts that ended up collecting dust in the back of Elliot’s closet. He wasn’t unappreciative by any means – there was always a pleased smile and a thank-you kiss – he just didn’t find the sort of value in physical things that Tyrell did. He had what he needed, and that was enough.

Tyrell had tried to accept it, but the fact that the things he bought with Elliot in mind often went unused always bugged at him. He had figured that was just the way it was, and the way Elliot was always going to be, until, by total accident, he had stumbled across the fact that Elliot was what they called a Little, meaning he enjoyed entering the mindset of a child.

It hadn’t surprised him; not the way Elliot had expected it to. Tyrell had been around, seen the mainstream shit and the considered-weird shit. He knew Elliot well by now, and with the way he acted sometimes, it all just clicked.

It didn’t bother him in the least, either. The prospect of being able to _finally_ give Elliot something he actually wanted excited Tyrell, if he was being honest. So, shortly after the admission had come to light, Tyrell had sat down with his laptop (newly bought, since Elliot was no longer keen on letting Tyrell use his) and his credit card and gotten to work.

That had been about a week ago, and Tyrell had paid for expedited shipping, because that was just the way he operated. The packages begin to trickle in, with Tyrell quickly sweeping them away from Elliot’s curious gaze.

One late morning, the doorbell rings unexpectedly. Elliot turns away from whatever code he had been hacking out, and blinks at Tyrell.

“You expecting something?” Elliot asks.

“No,” Tyrell lies easily, knowing it’s the last of what he had ordered. He nonchalantly goes back to the cheap romance novella he had finally been trying to read. It was a guilty pleasure.

Elliot shrugs as he gets up. “Okay, weirdo,” he says.

Tyrell keeps his eyes in his book but listens intently as Elliot opens the front door of their apartment, thanks the deliveryperson, and gently shoos Flipper out of his way.

“You must have been expecting something,” Elliot says. He tries to push the package into Tyrell’s hands. “Here.”

“No,” Tyrell says again. He sets his book on Elliot’s desk, and gently steers him to sit on their bed, now with a new, unshot mattress. “This is for you.”

Elliot gives Tyrell a look that’s asking whether he can read his own name on the package or not, but Tyrell only smiles. “Open it.”

“What is this?” Elliot asks suspiciously. “I don’t need more shit, Tyrell.”

“Just open it, my love,” Tyrell says, his voice fond. Elliot had no idea how stubborn he really was.

“Fine,” Elliot sighs dramatically, and digs his stubby fingernails into the tape holding the box together.

After a second or two of peeling and clawing at the cardboard, he gets the sides popped open. Smiling up at him, waiting to be held and cuddled, is huggable, holdable plush kitty. It’s pink and soft and textured, and Elliot’s hands twitch unconsciously, wanting to reach out for it.

“What the hell?” Elliot says in a hushed breath. He looks up at Tyrell with stunned eyes. “What the _hell?_ ” he repeats.

“There’s more,” Tyrell says, reaching around Elliot to open the box farther. Nestled in with the kitty is small, green, silky-soft baby blanket, still wrapped up in packaging twine. Underneath the blanket is a ragdoll, with yellow braided string for hair and a stitched-on smile.

“I –“ Elliot starts to say something, but it seems to get caught in his throat. His lip is bobbling in that tell-tale way, like he wants to start crying but won’t let himself.

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Tyrell says softly, perching himself on the edge of the bed to better hold Elliot in his arms. Elliot sniffles.

“I never – I don’t need –“ Elliot blubbers.

“I know you didn’t ask for it, and I know you don’t _need_ it,” Tyrell says. “But we’re all allowed to have things that we don’t need. I don’t need a 600-dollar shirt, but I can afford it, and it makes me happy. So why not, right?”

Elliot seems to calm down at that logic. Slowly he relaxes, resting his head against Tyrell’s shoulder. His body unfurls, and his breathing evens out.

“Yeah,” he says, in a teeny-tiny voice. It almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Tyrell says. “You gave me permission to take care of you, and I fully intend to.”

Tyrell takes the kitty and the doll out of the box and situates them in Elliot’s lap. Elliot brushes his hands over them with careful fingers, as if afraid he might break them. Tyrell knew, through Elliot himself as well as his sister Darlene, that he had it rough growing up. Dead dad plus shitty mom equaled antisocial little boy who wasn’t getting the help he needed. It had made him understandably cautious, poised to flee at any bump in the road.

Tyrell can’t go back in time and protect Elliot from what was to happen, no matter how much he wishes he could. But here was a glorious opportunity to show Elliot love and comfort in the present, and Tyrell was going to take it.

“Would this be a bad time to tell you there’s more?” Tyrell asks, fighting back a huge grin. He wants Elliot to be excited as he is – but he understands it may take time.

“More?” Elliot’s already big eyes are huge with wonder.

“Yes, my love,” Tyrell says. “Would you like to see?”

Elliot often looked younger than his twenty-eight years, what with his slight frame and large, innocent-looking eyes. Now, though, with the toys positioned on his lap, and the mix of confusion and excitement spread across his face, he looked just like a trepidatious toddler. Tyrell wants nothing more than to scoop him up and pepper him with kisses, but he figures that might be too much right now, considering the uncharted territory they’re crossing into.

Elliot doesn’t answer, instead opting to nibble on the tips of his fingers. It’s obvious he’s sliding towards a younger headspace, and Tyrell wants to nurture that. This is a crucial period – Elliot has to know he’s safe while so vulnerable, or the whole idea will crumble.

“Come on, baby,” he says, sliding off the bed and holding his hand out to Elliot. Elliot clasps both soft toys to his chest, and, with a look of caution, reaches out and takes Tyrell’s hand.

Tyrell leads them down the hallway to the spare closet that, before this, had gone mostly unused by the both of them. He opens the closet door with his free hand to find it just the way he had left it, nearly bursting with unopened boxes.

Elliot makes a soft, surprised sound at the sight. Tyrell smiles sheepishly at him.

“I _may_ have gone a little overboard,” he admits. He was known to be good at that.

“For me?” Elliot asks, tapping at his own chest with an open palm. The uncertainty in his voice makes Tyrell’s heart ache – couldn’t he see he deserved this?

“For you, Elliot, my love,” Tyrell says. He gives Elliot a big kiss on the cheek. “Let’s open them, shall we?”

Elliot says nothing, but quickly nods his head and pulls impatiently on Tyrell’s fingers. Tyrell about melts into the floor.

Tyrell carefully pulls out the boxes, going from lightest to heaviest, and with every passing second Elliot’s expression becomes more excited. Tyrell wonders about the last time he’d been spoiled like this – had he had any sort of big holiday as a child? Or was this all new, a strange experience in the best way?

He tries not to dwell, instead focusing on the here and now. Once the boxes are unstacked, Tyrell shuts the closet door, so they have more space. He plops himself cross-leggily on the floor and grins up at Elliot.

Elliot shifts his weight uncomfortably, unsure where to go from here. The stuffed toys are still protectively clutched to his body, and he has a finger hovering near his mouth – not yet tucked securely between his lips, but badly wanting to go there.

“Umm…” Elliot hums, his body vibrating with the sound.

“Come here, silly boy,” Tyrell says sweetly. He holds out his arms and beckons to Elliot with his hands. For someone who had never spent much time with children, Tyrell found this came rather easily to him.

Maybe it was because Elliot wasn’t a child in the usual sense – or maybe it was because he was just _Elliot_ , and not anyone else.

Elliot makes a whiny little sound in the back of his throat; but scoots in closer to let Tyrell pull him into his lap. Tyrell is a good five inches taller than him, and much less scrawny, so they balance out nicely. Elliot is tense in his lap, but Tyrell doesn’t try to force anything. He merely reaches for the nearest box and places it in front of them.

Elliot pats at the box but makes no attempt to actually open it. He again hums softly to himself, curious.

If Tyrell had to guess, he would say Elliot fell between the ages of two and four – a toddler who needed help in every sense of the word. It made sense, considering how independent the adult Elliot tended to be. The younger he slid, the less his adult life would bother him.

“Here, baby, look,” Tyrell murmurs, and pops the taped seal with his thumbnail. He unfolds the sides to give Elliot easy access, and Elliot only hesitates for a moment before tearing into the bubble wrap. Curiosity was overriding his nervousness, and it was _wonderful._

“ _Oh_ ,” Elliot says in a feather-soft voice, and Tyrell’s overjoyed they’ve started with this particular box.

Elliot pulls out a third stuffed toy, a terrier dog that had reminded Tyrell of their own little Flipper. It can stand up on its own, and Elliot props his other two treasures up against it.

“Flipper,” he says, patting the toy behind the ears.

“It looks a lot like her, doesn’t it?” Tyrell replies. Elliot hums, and it resonates through Tyrell’s own chest. He cards his fingers through Elliot’s soft waves of hair, rewarded by the feeling of Elliot’s shoulders and neck untensing.

“Keep going,” Tyrell prompts gently. “It’s all yours, my love.”

“All mine,” Elliot repeats, somewhat incredulously. He pulls out the other items and spreads them across the floor – a fluffy blanket meant for their bed, a few patterned t-shirts, and pants that weren’t quite pajamas, but were more comfortable than any of the stiff black jeans Elliot owned.

“Soft,” Elliot comments on the clothing. He traces one of the stars patterning a t-shirt. “Try?”

“Sure, baby,” Tyrell says. “Why don’t we get through these boxes, and then you can try everything out?”

Elliot murmurs some agreeable babble and reaches for a different box. This one is heavier, and Tyrell swallows nervously – he’s not sure if Elliot will be as fond of this one as he is the others.

“Open?” Elliot asks, shaking the box a little. “P’ease?”

“Since you asked so nicely,” Tyrell says, like he wouldn’t have opened the box anyway. He peels away the tape and lets Elliot pop open the cardboard sides. 

Tyrell chews at the inside of his cheek as Elliot unearths a package of colorful diapers. Within the same box is a changing pad, cream, wipes, and other necessities.

Some sort of protection was going to be always going to be needed, as Elliot tended to completely ignore his bodily functions even when he wasn’t feeling small. He had a hard time coming up for air when heavily invested in a project, but Tyrell couldn’t do anything about that for adult Elliot – lest he tread across some unspoken “hovering boyfriend” line. He wasn’t about to let his baby do the same, though.

“Mmm...” Elliot mutters unhappily. It’s a far cry from the happy coos of a few moments ago.

“I know,” Tyrell says, resuming his petting of Elliot’s hair. “It’s no fun. But I’m sure you’d rather this than wet pants, right? Hmm?”

“Guess so,” Elliot says very faintly, sounding like he might cry. Tyrell secures his arms around Elliot and rocks them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Tyrell asks, more to himself than to Elliot. He had been so caught up in the excitement of giving Elliot these things, he hadn’t considered the reaction of so much at once might garner. He slides the offending box away from them.

“Let’s do one more,” he says. “The other packages aren’t that interesting, anyhow.” 

And they weren’t, at least not to open. One box contained dining materials suited for a toddler – bottles and lidded cups, plastic plates, utensils with grippy handles. Another was a small collection of books for them to read together. Tyrell had gone for the classics he knew from his own childhood: _Goodnight Moon, The Velveteen Rabbit,_ and _Madeline,_ among others. It would be interesting to see how the English versions held up against what he remembered.

Elliot sniffles emphatically, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his fists. The idea of naptime crosses Tyrell’s mind – would Elliot go for it? With the weird hours he ran, it was always a possibility.

“Here – one more, then we’re all done,” Tyrell soothes. “Or, should I open it?”

“You do,” Elliot says, leaning back heavily against Tyrell’s chest to watch.

Tyrell opens the last package, which is probably his personal favorite. It’s a hodgepodge of toys – Tyrell hadn’t known there was so many options until he went looking. He had relatively simple ones in his own youth, but he’d learned long ago that Americans were anything but simple.

Plastic trucks, coloring books, one of those new Barbie dolls that could bend at the knee and elbow and wrist and a frankly ridiculous number of other things fill the box.

“Toys,” Elliot says. With the same gentle hand he used with his stuffed friends, he runs his fingertips over the plastics. “Ohh. Yes. Like them.”

“I’m so glad you do!” Tyrell says, beaming so hard his cheeks hurt. All he wanted out of this was for Elliot to like it – to be happy and content and removed from his traumas, even if it was just for a little while. It looked like his wish had been granted.

“Oh, look at the time,” Tyrell murmurs, glancing at his watch. “Are you hungry? It’s past noon by now.”

“Mm,” Elliot agrees, wedging his thumb in his mouth for emphasis.

“None of that, now,” Tyrell chides. He roots around in one of the boxes for an undiscovered item – a baby blue pacifier, one of many.

“You’ll get sick,” he says. “Even just the computer keyboard has a thousand tiny germ-bugs. And I don’t know when the last time you washed your hands was, either.”

Tyrell takes Elliot’s smaller hand in his large one and carefully dislodges his thumb, much to Elliot’s chagrin. It was clear he was feeling truly Little, now, and had been teetering on the edge of overwhelmed tears for a while. Before Tyrell can replace his thumb with the pacifier, he starts to cry, quiet little hiccupping sobs that make Tyrell want to cry with him.

“Oh, _mitt hjärta,_ my heart,” Tyrell says. He stands and helps Elliot stand, too, and moves them out to the living room couch, where Flipper watches over them protectively from her spot in the sun.

“I know, sweetheart, I know it,” he continues, starting an ongoing litany of comforting words. He pulls Elliot into his lap again, though the couch is much more comfortable than the floor.

“Let it all out, baby. You’ll feel so much better after, I promise, cross my heart….”

Elliot continues to cry, all the emotion of his grownup problems coming out in a stream of exhausted toddler sobs. It’s heartbreaking to listen to, and this isn’t even the first time Tyrell has held Elliot while he cried.

Elliot cries, and cries, and cries, and Tyrell holds him tight until he’s all cried out. His sniffles die down after five or so solid minutes. He buries his face into Tyrell’s chest as he calms, probably smearing snot and spittle and God-knows-what other facial fluids into the fabric of his shirt. Tyrell tries really, really hard not to care.

“Better?” he asks. Elliot nods into his chest, and that’s more of an answer than he’d been expecting.

“Good,” Tyrell says. “Sometimes a good cry works wonders. Now, I’m sure you’re tired after all of that. How about we get a little lunch into you and then we can go lay down?”

Elliot doesn’t answer, just clutches tighter at Tyrell’s shirt, pulling him closer.

“I won’t leave you, don’t worry,” Tyrell assures him. “I didn’t sleep all that well last night – you know how I am. I could use a little lie-down, too.”

Elliot seems to have given up his words for the moment, but that was okay. Sometimes he did that while Big, anyway. Tyrell was used to keeping up the conversation for the both of them.

“Okay, honey, up we go,” he says, hoisting Elliot up by the armpits. His face is a mess – splotchy red and dripping – and its only now that they’re standing that Tyrell can see the wet spot that had bloomed on the front of Elliot’s jeans.

He doesn’t want to draw attention to the accident at first, but he doesn’t have a choice, really. He can’t let Elliot stay this way, obviously, and his face needed mopping up, anyway.

“Bathroom first,” Tyrell announces. “Then food. Then sleep. Deal?”

Elliot whines, clinging to Tyrell’s arm and rubbing his cheek against the sleeve of his shirt.

“Sounds like a deal to me,” Tyrell says. “Would you like this, now?”

He produces the pacifier again. This time, Elliot takes it without complaint, furiously working it around his mouth. He’d be downright adorable if he didn’t look so worn out.

“And we’ll find your loveys, too. I think you left the kitty and dolly by the closet…”

Tyrell has half a mind to pick Elliot up, but he’s unsure if Elliot’s ready for that level of trust while he’s small. Holding him until he calmed down was victory enough, and Tyrell wasn’t vying to push Lady Luck on this one.

Elliot tugs at his jeans, clearly growing uncomfortable in the wet denim. Tyrell steers him into the bathroom, quickly stooping down to pick up his stuffed friends and supplies to change him.

“Wet,” Elliot moans around his binky. “ _Wet.”_

Tyrell rubs a solid, soothing hand over Elliot’s bony shoulders. “Just a little accident, my love,” he assures him. “We’ll get you cleaned up, and everything will be _lagom,_ yeah?”

Elliot whines pitifully. “Sorry, so sorry,” he says, in that tiny, miserable voice. “Wet.”

“Oh, honey, that’s okay!” Tyrell says, feeling a little bit shocked. It was as if Elliot thought he was going to be angry with him, when in fact, Tyrell was farther from anger than he’d been in a long time.

This was as cathartic for him as he hoped it was for Elliot. Tyrell wishes he could beat the daylights out of whoever had given his love such an unnecessarily guilty conscience.

“Is not,” Elliot insists, slightly lisping around the pacifier. He points to his own chest. “Am bad.”

“No,” Tyrell says firmly. “Look at me, Elliot, baby.”

Swampy green eyes peer up at Tyrell through damp, dark lashes. Tyrell brushes away a stray tear, cupping his hand to the side of Elliot’s cheek.

“You’re such a good boy,” Tyrell says. “A little accident doesn’t make you bad. You’re my good, good boy, and nothing is going to change that, okay? Alright?”

Elliot sniffles, letting his eyes fall closed. Tyrell just hopes he got the message.

He’s compliant as Tyrell wipes his face with a warm washcloth, only squirming in place a little bit. He allows himself to be set on the closed toilet seat, and for Tyrell to carefully remove his socks, wet pants and underwear. Tyrell tunelessly sings a Swedish lullaby as he works – he’d always been a little tone deaf, but Elliot seems to enjoy it.

“Mm,” Elliot says pleasantly.

“Do you like that?” Tyrell asks, cleaning him up with a baby wipe and throwing it in trash. “My mother used to sing it to me. It’s about a cat in the nighttime.”

He expertly pulls a diaper up between Elliot’s thighs, fastening it tight around his skinny waist. Tyrell’s not ashamed to admit he logged quite a few hours in the how-to-baby section of YouTube. He wanted to do this as rightly as he could. Elliot shifts around with the new feeling, but again, no complaints.

“Here we are,” Tyrell says, sliding his fingers under the seams of the diaper to puff it out and prevent leaks. He helps Elliot to his feet again, letting him lean forward against his shoulder while he dresses him in the soft pants and starry shirt he had been so interested in.

“I’m sure that feels better,” Tyrell says. He maneuvers them towards the sink, vaguely annoyed at the small size of their bathroom. He has Elliot wash his hands, and then does his own.

“You did so well,” Tyrell praises softly. He deposits the stuffed toys back into Elliot’s arms, and they’re immediately trapped protectively against his chest. He kicks Elliot’s dirty laundry to the side, resigning to pick it up later.

By the time they make it to the kitchen, Elliot is nearly asleep standing up. He sways sleepily, his pacifier bobbles peacefully in his mouth, and he has one lovey clutched in each hand.

“Hmm,” Tyrell says to himself, rethinking lunch plans. He’ll just make a big dinner.

“Come along, _sötnos,_ ” he says, steadying Elliot with a hand to the small of his back. Flipper – the real Flipper, not the stuffed one – makes an inquisitive sound at them, and trots along with them to the bedroom.

Elliot waddles a bit as he walks, unused to the bulk of a diaper between his legs. It’s the cutest thing Tyrell has ever seen.

Elliot climbs into their bed without pretense. Flipper isn’t far behind, curling up at his feet with a pleased sigh.

Tyrell had snagged the green baby blanket before they had entered the bedroom, and he unfurls it, spreading it across Elliot’s chest. Elliot blinks up lazily at him, hands curled in the fabric – he’ll be gone to the world in a matter of minutes.

“Stay?” is Elliot’s last sleepy request.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Tyrell says, sliding in next to him. He pulls up the comforter up around them, and Elliot finds his hand under the covers, clutching it within his own. He’s fast asleep not long after.

Tyrell’s left to watch his chest rise and fall with deep, even breathing, and wonder just how the hell he got so lucky.


End file.
